‘True, but he was also a hard-nosed soldier, accustomed to both fighting for what he believed in and having his orders unquestionably obeyed. You stole what was his and Magda disobeyed…well, if not direct orders then at least her wedding vows,’ Paul pointed out.
‘Even so, quite why he wanted to humiliate me, before I died when he must have known that I would never walk again…at least not properly? Couldn’t make it out, so I mentioned the matter to the pater and he told me Simpson had warned Magda to expect his return that night.’
Luke exchanged a look with Alvin and Paul. His friends looked as shocked and outraged as he himself felt.
‘The conniving little madam!’ Luke said, appalled. ‘She wanted Simpson to catch you with her? Why the hell would she…The scheming bitch!’
‘Even you wouldn’t have gone to her that night if you’d known,’ Alvin said.
‘Exactly. Believe it or not, her charms were starting to wear thin.’ Archie grinned. ‘You know me when it comes to the fairer sex. I never could be constant.’
‘She sensed that she was losing you and wanted to make some sort of obscure point,’ Luke said, seething.
‘I believe so, yes. That and the fact that she so liked to have men fighting over her.’ He paused. ‘What I have never been able to decide is whether or not she knew Simpson had cut away the vine that I used as an escape route.’
‘She knew you would have to use it again if Simpson caught you, so I hope she did not,’ Luke said, scowling. ‘However, it wouldn’t surprise me if she did. Her pride was hurt because your interest was waning, but that form of revenge was somewhat extreme, even by her standards.’
‘Precisely,’ Archie said. ‘Which is why, gentlemen, I can assure you that if she does try to contact me, she won’t get past the gates of Felsham Hall.’
‘I am relieved to hear you say so,’ Luke replied with asperity. ‘The woman is pure poison, but I suspect that whispers of her behaviour have reached the ears of those she’d like most to impress. Hostesses will be reluctant to invite her but the lady herself will be desperate to be seen out of her widow’s weeds and get her hooks into her next unsuspecting victim. She is still beautiful, no one can deny that, but she’s not getting any younger, looks don’t last indefinitely and since Simpson didn’t leave her well provided for, she will be wanting to secure her future through marriage.’
‘So, will you follow Alvin’s example, find a biddable wife and procreate, Archie?’ Paul asked, grinning. ‘We none of us believe that you’ve sworn off matrimony. Besides, you have a duty to sire the next Felsham heir.’
Archie grimaced. ‘I’m too young to settle down. Anyway, as I already said, I’m pragmatic, and who’d want a damned cripple for anything other than his wealth and title?’
‘Just about every eligible female this side of London,’ Paul replied. ‘So stop trying to invoke our sympathy because you brought your situation on yourself.’
Archie laughed. ‘You’re right, and despite everything I’d probably do it all again given my time over.’ He spread his hands, the same old, incorrigible Archie who had got them all into endless trouble during their younger days. An unstoppable force of nature, always game for the next escapade. Their best and closest friend from whose “death” they had none of them properly recovered. ‘The ladies still take an interest. The French accent gets them every time.’
Luke and Alvin shared a look, then laughed. ‘Of course it does,’ Luke said.
‘Anyway, I’ll consider taking the plunge after Luke does.’
‘Unlike you, I have brothers who can marry and produce sons and no father alive to remind me of my duty. There’s no pressure on me,’ Luke said. ‘I see no occasion to rush. I still have you and Paul, eligible and single, and there’s safety in numbers. Anyway, gentlemen, I suppose we’d better show ourselves.’
Archie hauled himself slowly to his feet and leaned heavily on his cane. ‘Lead the way,’ he said in a thick French accent that sounded entirely genuine.
Luke led his friends into the drawing room, where Mary and Emma stood together in their finery, speaking with Luke’s three brothers.
‘Well, look at you, Lady Mary,’ Archie said, limping forward to take her hand and kiss the back of it. ‘All grown up and pretty as a picture. Happy birthday.’
‘Thank you, Lord Felsham.’ She bobbed a curtsey. ‘I trust I find you as well as can be expected.’
Before Archie could respond, the first of the guests were announced and Luke and Mary stepped forward to greet them.
‘You do look very grown up,’ Luke told his sister in a quiet aside. ‘Should I be worried?’
‘You would be better advised to worry about yourself,’ Mary replied with a playful smile. ‘I happen to know that several of my friends who will be here this evening have you in their sights.’
Luke rolled his eyes. ‘The agonies I suffer for the sake of my family.’
‘Oh, here’s Lucy and Captain Redfern.’
Luke glanced at Mary and was a little dismayed to see her face light up at the sight of the captain. She blushed when he bowed over her hand and kissed the back of it. Lucy bobbed a curtsey to Luke and fluttered her lashes as he took her hand and bade her welcome. He did not follow Redfern’s example and kiss the back of her glove.
‘Welcome,’ he said calmly. ‘I am glad you were able to come.’
‘We would hardly miss an opportunity to renew our acquaintanceship with your family.’ Lucy paused, and glanced around the drawing room, now occupied by almost all their guests. Twenty people conducted conversations in muted, refined tones. ‘Is the countess not joining us? I don’t see her anywhere. I hope she is not unwell.’
‘She will be down directly,’ Luke said, deliberately turning to another arrival, thereby forcing Lucy and her brother to join the rest of the guests. A neighbour with a blushing daughter in tow attempted to monopolise Luke’s attention by regaling him with a list of her embarrassed daughter’s accomplishments. She met with equally discouraging results and was eventually forced to move into the drawing room.
Luke glanced constantly at the stairs, wondering what could be keeping his grandmother. She enjoyed making an entrance, but even by her standards, she was cutting it fine. He was reluctant to admit to himself just how anxious he was to see Flora in the new gown that had caused her so much anguish. More concerned still about his conversation earlier with his friends, from which he deduced that Alvin and Archie had got it into their thick heads that he had a serious romantic interest in his mother’s companion.
His patience was rewarded when he again looked towards the stairs and saw his grandmother leaning heavily on Flora’s arm as the two of them reached the vestibule.
‘Don’t fuss so, child. I am quite capable of supporting myself,’ the countess said, although she continued to lean upon Flora.
Luke himself barely noticed his grandmother, who for once had toned down her attire and looked almost traditional. Her determination not to embarrass Mary with flamboyant turbans or clashing colours supported Flora’s insistence that his grandmother was not nearly as senile or as mindless of her family’s finer feelings as she liked to pretend.
‘You look magnificent,’ Luke told Flora in an undertone as she approached him in a swirl of bronze silk that sculpted her svelte figure. Her features were slightly flushed, her eyes bright, the skin of her bare shoulders creamy and smooth. She was far from the most beautiful woman in the room, but Luke didn’t think any of the others capable of competing with her wholesome freshness and lack of artifice. Ye gods, he needed to have a care!
*
Flora’s relief when the countess decided upon an understated gown for herself turned to anxiety when she insisted upon delaying her appearance until all the guests had arrived. Flora herself disliked making entrances as much as the countess enjoyed making a spectacle of herself.
‘Let Mary enjoy her moment without having to fuss over me,’ the old lady insisted.
‘You have me t
o fuss over you, ma’am. Mary will be too busy being admired.’
‘As will you, you silly puss.’
‘Me?’ Flora shook her head decisively. ‘Hardly.’
‘Fetch me my other slippers, Sandwell. These pinch my toes something dreadful.’
Sandwell did as she was asked, only for the countess to change her mind again.
‘I would prefer my green fan.’
Flora knew better than to chide the countess. She would go down when she was ready, and not a minute sooner. Eventually that time came and the two of them descended the stairs in slow, stately splendour. Flora felt Luke’s gaze fastened upon them, even before she glanced up and met it. The warmth in his eyes as he took in her appearance made her feel as though she actually belonged in this magnificent household, mixing with such elegant and refined people. No matter how welcome they made her, she still sometimes felt like an impostor. She lifted her chin, determined not to allow her lack of confidence to show.
‘You look magnificent,’ he said.
Luke’s compliment, softly spoken had, she knew, been overheard by the countess, who possessed the hearing of a bat, despite her efforts to make it appear otherwise. Before she could say anything, her grandchildren surrounded her and she pretended to find their attentions irksome. They all held the eccentric old lady in great affection and didn’t permit her unconventional outbursts to affect them. Flora led her to a chair, and Charlie furnished them both with brimming glasses of champagne.
‘Who’s this strutting peacock?’ the dowager asked Flora, in a voice that was loud enough for the approaching Captain Redfern to hear. Deliberately, Flora knew. One look had clearly been sufficient for the countess to take the war hero in dislike. There again, perhaps she had got wind of Mary’s partiality for the man and already branded him a fortune hunter. Nothing about the perspicacious old lady’s behaviour would surprise Flora.
‘Miss Latimer.’ Captain Redfern bowed in front of her. ‘What a pleasure.’
‘All yours, I dare say,’ the countess replied with her usual forthrightness.
‘Good evening,’ Flora replied politely. She introduced the captain to the countess, who gave him a haughty nod. ‘Captain Redfern was injured in Afghanistan,’ she explained.
‘Pish!’
The captain coloured and cleared his throat. ‘One must do one’s duty,’ he said lamely.
‘Ma’am!’ Lucy Arnold interrupted a situation that was in danger of becoming embarrassing by floating towards them in a rustle of pink satin with elaborate trimmings that made her complexion look sallow. ‘It is a very great pleasure to see you again.’ She bobbed a curtsey. ‘It has been too long, but my husband’s responsibilities have kept us both from England these past several years. Miss Latimer,’ she added, dismissively.
Flora didn’t feel the need to respond and remained silent, curious to see how the countess would deal with Mrs Arnold. Her charge was in a mischievous mood, at least in so far as Captain Redfern was concerned. She wondered if her disdain would extend to the sister and felt in no frame of mind to rescue the wretched woman if it did.
‘Am I acquainted with this woman, Flora?’
The countess peered up at Mrs Arnold and her disdainful expression made it clear that she didn’t much care for what she saw. Flora couldn’t exactly blame her for that. She thought her own gown to be revealing but it was positively modest in comparison to Mrs Arnold’s bodice, which was cut so low that it scarcely covered her nipples.
‘This is Mary’s friend, Mrs Lucy Arnold, ma’am,’ Flora said, well aware that her charge knew precisely who she was.
‘You would remember me as Lucy Redfern, ma’am.’ Mrs Arnold’s tone was clipped, and her cheeks heated with embarrassment. ‘Our families were intimate when I was younger and I came here often.’
‘Ah, there is Mrs Pearson.’ The countess deftly dealt Lucy Arnold the cut direct and waved at the approaching matron, a lady whom Flora had met once before, and of whom the countess actually approved. ‘I suppose you have brought your wretched granddaughter with you,’ she said, when that lady approached them, ‘and she hopes to attract my grandson’s attention. I wish her luck with that endeavour. The wretched boy seems to be in no hurry at all to find himself a wife.’
Mrs Pearson smiled at Flora and took the chair beside the dowager. ‘Yes, the child is here but I haven’t the slightest intention of encouraging her interest in any of your grandsons. I cannot abide matchmaking matrons. No good ever comes of interfering in young gels’ romantic aspirations, I find. Best leave them to make up their own minds, then when they get it wrong, one can’t be blamed for coercion.’
The countess sniffed. ‘I enjoy a bit of meddling. There has to be some pleasure in growing old.’
‘True, my dear.’ Mrs Pearson folded her hands in her lap, settling in for a good natter. The countess continued to ignore Mrs Arnold, who still hovered and was starting to look ridiculous.
‘Circulate, Flora,’ the countess said, dismissing her with a wave of one hand. ‘Mrs Pearson and I will be comfortable enough here and our conversation is not for your prudish ears. Come and get me when dinner is announced.’
‘Behave yourself,’ Flora chided.
‘What mischief can I possibly make, you annoying child?’
Flora smiled, and strolled away.
Lucy Arnold excused herself and went off ahead of her, trying to pretend that she had not been offended by the countess’s behaviour. If Flora had liked the woman more, she might find it in herself to feel sorry for her. Indeed, if she liked her at all, she would have intervened and ensured that the countess remained civil. But her charge, Flora knew, was a shrewd judge of character, presumably because she had dealt with sycophants and fortune-seekers her entire life. She simply had a unique—some might argue uncivil—way of putting them in their place.
Mrs Arnold headed straight for Mary, and Flora deliberately lingered within earshot, curious to know how she would make up lost ground, or if she would even attempt to do so. Lucy’s desire to cultivate Mary’s good opinion would tell Flora a great deal about her brother’s intentions. Despite the Berengers being the principal family in the district, Lucy Arnold had good connections in her own right, considered herself almost their equal, and was not the type to take being cut in her stride.
A dangerous enemy, Flora’s senses told her. She caught a brief glimpse of the woman’s thunderous expression as she walked away from the countess and shuddered. Remus hadn’t bothered to put in an appearance, but Flora didn’t need him to tell her that Mrs Arnold was a fiercely determined woman who was disappointed by the way her life had turned out and desperate to improve her lot. Her early attempts to support her brother’s cause and make a favourable impression on Luke had not gone well. But Mrs Arnold was not the type to admit defeat, Flora sensed, graciously or otherwise.
Captain Redfern had attached himself to Mary, making her smile with his anecdotes. Paul, Flora noticed, kept looking over at them and scowling. Mary glanced away from the captain when Lucy joined them and smiled at her friend.
‘The countess is her usual contrary self,’ Lucy said, her voice artificially bright. ‘I declare I have missed her forthright attitude.’
‘Grandmamma is very much a law unto herself.’
‘I am surprised to see her companion so finely dressed,’ Lucy remarked, sending assessing looks in Flora’s direction. Flora didn’t pretend not to have overheard her, and merely smiled, enjoying being provocative.
Mary beamed. ‘Doesn’t she look delightful?’
‘Absolutely,’ the captain agreed, earning a scowl from his sister.
‘But she is a paid companion, my dear.’ Lucy lowered her voice, but Flora still easily overheard her. ‘And would be best advised to remember her place.’
‘Flora’s place is here at the Court. She is almost a member of the family and I do not know how we managed without her. Grandmamma adores her.’
‘What will she do when the countess is no more?’ Luc
y asked, her voice sweetly solicitous. ‘It is typical of your family’s generosity to treat a servant as one of your own, but she will not find it as easy when she is obliged to take up a position with another family who are not so liberally-minded.’
‘Don’t talk like that.’ Mary flapped a hand. ‘I cannot bear to think of the day when I must part with Grandmamma, or with Flora, either. Let us talk of jollier things.’
Flora smiled to herself, resisting the urge to applaud Mary’s entirely instinctive response. Mary was such a dear, but sometimes she was rather dangerously naïve. Clearly she hadn’t seen through her friend’s supposed concerns for Flora’s welfare and recognised the spitefulness and jealousy that lurked just below the surface. Flora moved away before Mary drew her into their conversation. She’d had quite enough of Mrs Arnold for the time being, and left her to glance frequently at Luke whilst pretending to have no interest in him. Flora observed Charlie’s wife Miranda in conversation with Lord Felsham and joined them.
‘Ah, Miss Latimer.’ His lordship sent her an approving look, his warm eyes conveying a sense of approval and mischief. Lord Felsham, she already knew, was enormous fun, and made light of his disabilities. Still roguishly handsome, she could easily imagine him cutting a very fine figure indeed in his younger days and suspected that being crippled had probably not curtailed some of his less outlandish pleasures entirely. ‘Pray, excuse me if I don’t get up.’
A Sense of Misgiving (Perceptions Book 3) Page 12